


Whiskey Burn

by montecarlogirl87



Series: Highway to Hell [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2790182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montecarlogirl87/pseuds/montecarlogirl87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>song-fic -- Dean never thought he could feel so lost. So he tries to drown the thoughts in his head with the welcome burn of alcohol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey Burn

Yet another hell hole of a bar, and yet another hell of a night. It had been two days since he had made the biggest mistake of his life and forced her away. Now he was just passing the time and becoming friends with pain.  
  
He lifted his finger, the bartender coming over and asking what his poison was. Little did he know…little did he know. Dean bit back a tortured smirk.  
  
Wild turkey, came the reply. And keep ‘em coming. 

_All my life I've been telling myself_  
I don't need no no nobody else  
I'm sitting here thinkin’  
Sittin’ here drinkin’ ‘bout you

  
His whole life he had embraced what his sergeant of a father had taught him. Never get close, never get attached. It wasn’t worth it in their line of work.   
  
Oh how right he had been.   
  
Too bad that didn’t change the fact that the shell of the man sitting at the bar right now had gotten close, had gotten attached…and then had broken the very thing he clung to so tightly.  
  
The shot glass slammed back down on the counter, minus the liquid fire that had just been present within it.  
  
His face crumpled and he hissed at the pain. Oh the pain. At least it proved he was still alive.   
  
Though he wondered if he even wanted to be.

_I look through the mirror_  
And all that I see  
Is one crazy lonely sucker looking back at me  
I'm sitting here thinkin'  
Sittin' here drinkin’ ‘bout you

  
How could he have been so stupid?! No, no, it was for the best, he kept telling himself. If she wasn’t there then Sam’s dream couldn’t come true. He did this for her.   
  
Then how come every time he closed his eyes all he could see was the pain in hers?  
  
Another shot. More pain, more pain. Seemed like that’s all he was going for now. More and more pain. Make it go away, dull it, whatever the hell it took.  


_I'm just a man on a mission_  
Tryin’ to make some decision  
Oh, what am I gonna do?  
Cause I ain't goin’ nowhere  
If I can't be somewhere with you  
Boo boo boo

  
He sighed and looked at his broken reflection in the mirror. Even the row of half empty liquor bottles couldn’t hide the clear evidence that he had been up for the past forty-eight hours. Or that he wished he could just roll over and die. His whole world had been shattered, what little there was anyway, and the worst part was he was the one that had taken the swing.  
  
The vision of her standing by his car with that tire iron unwillingly popped into his mind and the sound of shattering glass echoed in his ears.  
  
He clenched his eyes shut trying to will away the unwelcome reminder of what he lost.  
  
Why couldn’t you have taken a swing at me Monte? Why couldn’t you have knocked me upside the head with that rod of steel? Broken me instead of those bottles?  


_I'm sitting here thinkin'  
Sittin' here drinkin’ ‘bout you_

  
The shot glass again slammed against the table, drawing the looks of a couple people around him. His hand encased it tighter and tighter, willing the glass to shatter from his grip alone.  
  
But no breaking glass, no pain shooting into his palm ever came.  
  
Stupid glass.

_Oh, I'm just a man on a mission_  
Tryin’ to make some decision  
Oh, what am I gonna do?  
Cause I ain't goin’ nowhere  
If I can't be some where with you  
Boo boo boo

  
He ordered the bartender to leave the bottle, no need to keep bothering the man. He’d just take it back to the motel to add to his ever growing collection and nurse it the rest of the night.  
  
Like every night.

_I'm just sitting here thinkin’  
Sittin’ here drinkin’ ‘bout you_

  
He almost chuckled. Even that slightest hint making him want to cough thanks to his now raw throat. Seemed like his dad wasn’t the Winchester that had a Miller Time problem.   
  
Another shot. More pain. 

_Yes, I'm sittin’ here thinkin’  
Sittin’ here drinkin’ ‘bout you_

  
Just a little more pain.

* * *

 

 

[ ](http://s16.photobucket.com/user/montecarlogurl87/media/HWYtoHell/chicagobar.jpg.html)

**Author's Note:**

> Drinkin' 'Bout You - Big & Rich


End file.
